


Media vita in morte sumus (In the Midst of Our Lives We Die)

by Joy_in_the_House



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Green Arrow (Arrow TV 2012), Chapter two has some dark stuff sorry, Flashback, Gen, Intense parts, Military AU, More characters to come, Self-Harm, Strike Team Arrow instead, Suicide Attempt, War, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22149844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joy_in_the_House/pseuds/Joy_in_the_House
Summary: Quentin Lance, a captain in the U.S. army goes home for three weeks. Three weeks? how long does it take for someone's world to change forever, anyway?As he finds out, not long. Not long at all.When he returns to the base his team is stationed, well. Then he learns how much life can screw a person over.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 4





	1. Where the Wind Don't Change and Nothing in the Ground can Ever Grow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Sia's "Alive" . Thought of this fic at 2 am. Throwing it out there incase anyone would like to read it, let me know!  
Disclaimer, not military. My knowledge consists of a family member's Canadian military experience and Google.  
Not beta'd. Any mistake is well and truly mine.  
MinervaNorth... thought of you darlin ❤

“Hall, watch your six!” Captain Quentin Lance commanded, looking up for a brief second as he reloaded his rifle in the warm desert night.

SPC McKenna Hall turned, her rifle muzzle flashing, and the lone insurgent never stood a chance. 

She moved back closer to her superior, and her radio crackled to life. 

_ “Alpha 2, come in. Alpha 2.” _

“Cover me, sir,” she said tersely, and Lance snapped to vigilance.

“Copy,” he acknowledged, moving closer to cover, finger lightly resting on the trigger. 

He stood watchful, waiting to see if any of the local insurgents were foolish enough to move in on them. 

He registered Hall on the radio in the background, but found himself filtering through the nighttime desert sounds to find anything of use.

“Cap, Bravo is headed back to base,” Hall reported presently, and Lance nodded from his guard post. 

“Anything they reported?” 

“They took heavy fire, sir,” she said quietly, and Lance turned to look at her.

“How bad?” he asked her, and she shrugged.

“Holdt didn’t give any more information, even when I asked nicely,” she muttered, and Lance nodded, moving a hand to his own radio.

“Alpha 1 to Base, Alpha 1 to Base, come in.”

_ “Base to Alpha 1, what can I do for you today, Cap?”  _ came the slightly sarcastic voice of their comms specialist.

“No lip right now, Gerwitz,” Lance told him sternly. “How’s that extract transport coming along?”

There was the sound of typing before Gerwitz’s voice came back.

“Transport five miles out, Cap.”

“Affirmative, Gerwitz. News on Bravo?”

A pause before Gerwitz replied. 

“Catch you back at Base, sir.”

The line went dead, and Lance sighed. 

The two stood vigilant in their shelter silently for a moment, and as the chopper sounded in the distance, Hall turned to her commanding officer. 

“You excited for home?” she whispered, and Lance held back a chuckle. 

“Yeah,” he said lowly, a smile still gracing his normally stern face.

And he was, he reflected.

He was set for a three week furlough, starting with his flight from Base to Tehran in eight hours, a connector to Munich, then to La Guardia.

He’d packed enough paperwork to last the four hour stopover in La Guardia before his flight to Star City. 

He knew he would meet his daughters at the airport, who would inevitably be camped out on the benches waiting for him.

“Captain?” came Hall’s amused snicker, and he came back to the present. 

The chopper was landing in front of them, and the two covered each other as they made their way to get on. 

As the chopper took off, leaving insurgents below somewhere, Lance thought of his impending flight, and he turned to Hall with a smirk.

“Let’s get lost, Specialist.”

~

He was packed and put away quickly, and the paperwork was ready for his substitute officer as soon as they arrived. And there was still an hour to go. 

He collapsed gratefully on his bunk, pointedly ignoring the snickers from Lt. Mark Rian.

“Don’t sleep too long, Quin,” he said fondly, poking the older officer’s shoulder as he passed to his own bunk.

Lance grumbled incoherently, realizing he was too wired to sleep. 

“You’ll make sure the team doesn’t go off the rails, Rian?” he asked, staring at the ceiling.

“Wow, Quin, you wound me,” Rian complained, hand on his heart in mock-offense. “You know I’m the one to  _ lead _ them off the rails in the first place.”

Lance smirked before his eyes slipped shut again.

“Captain…. Lance?” came an unfamiliar voice from the door, and Lance was up in a flash.

“Come to Attention,” he ordered, and Rian was up, at attention, eyes straight forward.

The young man in the doorway clicked his heels smartly, saluting, and Lance returned the attention. 

“Captain Adrian Chase, sir,” he reported, an easy smile on his face. “I’m your fill-in while you’re gone.”

“Good to meet you, Chase,” Lance smiled, quickly stepping aside as Specialist Luke Holdt barreled into the bunk room.

“Rian!” he called, whipping a bag of chips at his colleague. 

“Cap!” he warned, and Lance caught his chip bag square in the face, while Chase took one to the chest. 

“Sorry, sir,” Holdt grinned sheepishly, before pointing to Lance. 

“I needed to tell you something,” he muttered, and Lance smirked as Holdt began the “I Can’t Remember What I Need to Do” routine.

“Name, rank, number,” Holdt muttered to himself, then began counting. 

After a minute, he looked at Lance, slightly desperate. 

“Help.” 

Lance chuckled, no stranger to Holdt’s lapses in memory.

“Me?”

“Yeah,” said Holdt, distressed.

“Command?”

“No.” 

“Superior?”

“Nope.”

Furlough,” Lance tried, and Holdt squawked. 

“That’s it!” He pumped his fist in jubilation. “Hall asked me to tell you it’s time to go catch your prop to Tehran!”

Lance shook his head, still laughing. He grabbed his luggage, and turned to the others in the room. 

“Let’s do it.”

Rian and Holdt rocketed up and past him before he blinked, and Lance shook his head, smiling at the younger officers.

He followed them out to the airstrip where the small plane was waiting, as well as Hall and Gerwitz. 

Chase followed at a distance, curious. Lance tossed his phone to him, and Chase looked at him, a wordless question on his face.

“When I tell you,” he called, “Take the pictures.”

Chase watched, amused as the five officers tried to arrange themselves.

Lance stood in the middle, with Gerwitz and Rian flanking him, and Hall and Holdt crouched in front, a space left in between them. 

Chase watched them, and motioned for the two in the front to move in closer.

Lance shook his head.

“Take the shot, Captain,” he told him. 

The five were captured on digital film with wide smiles and their arms around each other, and Chase found himself feeling an interloper in the familiar comfort. 

Lance came to retrieve his phone.

“We lost a member, Specialist Hilton, about a year ago. Wasn’t until after we all realized we never had pictures of him, or any of us.” He looked away, watching the team’s antics on the airstrip. “Swore we’d change it. Any op we go on, any furlough, we get a picture. Make sure we’d always remember each other how we knew them.”

Chase nodded solemnly. 

“If you wish, I’ll continue that.”

Lance smiled at him with a sideways glance. “Thanks.”

He made his way back to his team, and the goodbyes began.

McKenna Hall hugged her C.O. tightly, telling him to hug Laurel and Sara for her. With a wink she slipped a copy of the drama flyer from the three girl’s old high school play into his bag.

Holdt was next, the rookie, who was still intimidated by Lance, only every calling him “Captain,” or “Sir.”

He saluted before shaking Lance’s hand, and had turned to walk away when he suddenly came back and hugged him hard.

This naturally resulted in a very surprised Captain Lance, who hugged the SPC back gently, and smiling at the rookie, who suddenly found the ground very very interesting.

Mark Rian was next, and he warmly clapped his friend on the shoulder. 

“I hope home is good to you, Quin,” he said quietly, his gentle smile a vast contrast to his hulking size. Lance smiled back, and Mark dropped his voice lower.

“Get help if the noise is too much,” he advised, watching his friend.

Lance nodded, shaking his younger lieutenant's hand firmly.

Lance turned to Chase, a warm handshake and a word of caution to not be a superhero to the young captain, when Gerwitz stepped forward, gripping the man in a hug.

“Safe flight, Cap,” he said quietly. “Maybe I’ll catch you at La Guardia.”

Lance grinned at the comms SPC, who was due to leave for his own furlough within a couple of hours.

“I’m at LG for four hours, roughly, so yeah, maybe,” he admitted. “Chicago?”

“Where else?” Gerwitz grinned out the side of his mouth. 

Lance shook his head, chuckling. “Not ready.”

Gerwitz gasped in mock-hurt. 

“Of course I’m ready to see Chicago again!”

Lance looked him in the eye, dead-panning “They’re not ready for you.”

Gerwitz scoffed, grinning himself. 

“Been too long,” he sighed. “Gotta check on the bullpen, or Jay’ll never forgive me.” 

Lance stood at attention, but the military stiffness was betrayed by the warm twinkle in his eye. 

“Have fun, Gerwitz,” he said softly. “Stay safe.”

“You too, sir,” Gerwitz winked.

~

The flight from Tehran to Munich was uneventful; and apart from the minor luggage fiasco on the transfer, nothing could phase Quentin. Not when he had the knowledge that in a day and a half he’d be home for the first time since his initial deployment two and a half years prior.

30 months was way too long to go without seeing his daughters, adults as they may be.

As he sat, surrounded by strangers, he found enough solitude to slip into his thoughts. 

After being deployed in late 2015, he had signed up for a second and third tour almost immediately. Both Sara and Laurel, 23 and 27 at the time, had been understandably disappointed, but they had known how important it was to their father.

The layover at La Guardia was dull even after the paperwork, but he was left with enough time to message his team and hear how Chase was settling in. 

Three hours in, he watched Specialist Greg Gerwitz run past for his flight, and the Chicagoan waved at him.

The flight to Star City was short, and he found himself waking up as the plane landed, a sour taste in his mouth and an odd cold knot in his stomach. 

He dismissed it as he stumbled off the plane, still half asleep. 

“Dad!” 

The voices he knew so well caught his attention, and he found himself fully awake by the time he had vaulted the barrier, dropping his bag and pulling both his girls into his arms.

Both Sara and Laurel clung to him, and he found himself tearing up as he sunk onto a bench, both daughters in his arms.

On the way back to Sara’s, where the three would be staying for a few days, Laurel looked in the rearview and bit back a giggle. 

“Sara,” she whispered, nodding towards the backseat.

Sara turned around to see a fast asleep Lance, head against the window. 

Laurel smiled at her sister, tears in her eyes.

“He hasn’t changed,” she murmured as she drove.

Sara’s smile faded, and she found herself taking another glance at her dad.

“He has,” she said somberly. “Just not sure how yet.”

Laurel’s confusion was evident, but neither woman said anything more.

The captain in the backseat slept on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think, here or on Twitter (@JoyInTheHouse1)  
Thanks!  
And Thanks to WinterJoy, for being a soundboard. <3 love you girl


	2. I Just Can't Look (It's Killing Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin realizes how much home has changed, and Sara reminds him of an unpleasant memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so people know:  
Trigger warnings:  
There is a suicide attempt in the flashback.  
It is there specifically to tie directly into something later.  
It is in the part in italics, so you can skip if you wish.

Laurel pulled into the driveway, stopping the car. She turned around.

“Dad,” she said softly, and Quentin’s eyes shot open. 

Sara watched closely as her dad stiffened, eyes taking in his surroundings, darting around.

He snapped upright in the seat, not panicking, but he felt his trigger finger flex where the trigger should be, and he pulled in a breath. Something felt off-

“We’re home, Dad,” Sara said, and he nodded, moving quickly to get out.

After retrieving his baggage, he found himself looking around the small apartment.

Dinner was a quiet affair; Laurel leaving soon after to grab some clothes from her apartment, planning to spend the night at Sara’s.

Sara and Quentin stayed at the table, talking. They couldn’t talk enough. There wasn’t enough time for Quentin to hear about Sara and what she’d done since he left.

Until the jet lag hit.

For the record, Quentin personally hated jet lag.

That being said, the furthest west he’d been in the last two years had been Cairo, so he hadn’t actually experienced jet lag since his deployment.

But it wasn’t until he had fallen asleep at the table, coffee in hand, that he finally admitted to himself that he was exhausted. He’d been up for four days straight, between combat, then the flights home.

Sara pointed toward to spare room, hiding her smile, and was a mumbled, “goodnight, sweetheart,” and a sloppy kiss on the top of her head, he stumbled blindly down the hall.

Presently Laurel returned, opening the front door and Quentin paused, contemplating the hallway as if it held the meaning of life.

Laurel took a look at the half-asleep man in front of her and smiled.

“That way, dad,” she said pointing down the hall. “Go sleep. We’ll catch up tomorrow.”

He grinned at her and pulled her into a hug.

And if there warm tears falling down both their cheeks, well, neither said anything.

With a sloppy half salute he continued to trudge down the hallway, finding the door that Laurel had indicated.

He blinked and wondered when he’d sat down on the bed. He toed his shoes off, yanking his hoodie over his head. 

With a sigh, he stretched out luxuriously on the bed.

He’d rest just a moment and then get changed.

Right?

_ His eyes flew open, sitting up. Rian was standing over him.  _

_ “We’re taking fire?” he asked him, Rian shaking his arm again. _

“Quentin, come on.”

_ They were taking fire. _

_ He needed to go. _

“Dad...”

_ “Get Hall and Holdt, get your gear, get to the Humvee, and move!” _

“Dad! 

_ Rian was shaking him and as Lance tried to pull away, he felt himself hit the ground hard. _

_ The wind crushed out of him as he looked up at the face in front of him. _

_ Rian’s face was concerned, and Lance blinked in surprise when Rian’s face changed. _

“Dad, listen to me,” Sara was begging, and Lance blinked.

He was on the floor.

Sara was in front of him, her hands on his shoulders; Laurel in the doorway, illuminated by the hall light.

“Sara?” he looked at her, bewildered, still clouded with sleep.

“You were yelling,” she said, frowning. 

“About?” His breath was still caught in his throat, and he forced himself to look at his daughter, his fists clenched in an attempt to stay calm.

“Something about taking fire, that you didn’t know why Ree-yan was shaking you,” she told him hesitantly, and he sucked in a shaky breath.

“Rian,” he corrected. “I just… I thought I was there,” he finished lamely.

Sara’s concerned look didn’t go away, but she rocked back on her heels. 

“Are you okay?”

He nodded silently, letting himself look around the mostly dark room. 

“Yeah,” he heard himself say. “Yeah.”

Sara held out a hand, and he left her half-pull him to his feet. 

Quentin smiled at her, and she stepped forward, throwing her arms around him. 

Laurel came closer and hugged him gently.

As he held both of his girls, he couldn’t help but think of the last time he’d held them like this before he’d left.

Laurel pulled away, stepping back to the door, and Sara followed after a moment.

Quentin smiled at both of them before they waved, shutting the door.

He blinked, his eyes heavy as he felt sleep claim him once more.

~ 

He woke up, his training forcing him awake in an instant.

He pulled his watch over to the sliver of streetlight shining through the window and groaned.

It may only have been 3 in the morning, but he needed coffee.

He found himself heading towards the kitchen. He’d memorized the layout of the apartment earlier, and it came in handy now. 

Ten minutes later he was sitting on the counter with his second cup of coffee in his hand as Sara flipped on the light.

“Hey hey hey, have some respect! Eyes! Burning!” he protested, screwing his eyes shut as Sara dutifully flipped the light off again. 

“You’re up early,” he remarked, opening one eye cautiously before relaxing.

“Heard you moving around,” she said, pouring herself a cup of coffee and sitting on the barstool.

“There are chairs, you know,” she said casually as Quentin pulled up his legs and sat on them. On the counter.

“Chairs are boring, kid,” he said nonchalantly. 

Sara grinned into her coffee.

The two sat in silent darkness for a moment before Sara cleared her throat.

“Dad?”

Her voice held uncertainty.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Remember when Larry came home?”

Quentin set down his coffee and beckoned Sara closer. She hopped up on the counter beside him, and the two sat comfortably shoulder-to-shoulder.

“What about Larry, Sara?”

“I know I was 15 when he came back from Iraq. I remember a lot, Dad,” she said quietly.

“I remember he was hurt. He lost his leg in the explosion.” 

Quentin nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

Sara pushed on. 

“I remember when he stayed with us for a bit, while you got him help.”

Quentin’s eyes were welling over, and he felt a tear fall, somewhere into Sara’s hair.

“I remember,” he confirmed.

Sara’s voice wobbled, and Quentin pulled her tighter. 

“I remember the night he was yelling and I went to go see what was wrong.”

Quentin held her tight, biting back the sob that was threatening to break loose any second.

“Sara, no,” he pleaded.

His daughter, stubborn as him, kept going.

“Mom blocked me from coming in the living room,” she whispered.

“You were on the floor with him and you were bleeding and crying.”

She buried her face in his shoulder as Quentin closed his eyes, the scene replaying in his mind.

-

_ Quentin woke up, unsure of the reason. _

_ Was it Dinah, or his daughters? His cousin, a month off his medical discharge? _

_ A muffled sob echoed through the paper thin walls of the apartment. _

_ He bolted up when he heard it, tumbling out of bed.  _

_ His cousin had been staying with them while trying to readjust to civilian life. Nightmares and the entire family waking up to his panicked yelling was a nightly occurrence. He still refused to accept help. _

_ Quentin was no stranger to being afraid of waking up in the morning to find his cousin gone, or even dead.  _

_ “Quin?” Dinah was half awake beside him as he slipped on a T-shirt. _

_ “It’s Larry,” he told her, the fear in his eyes out in the open. _

_ He ran down the hall, not caring his daughters were still asleep.  _

_ He balked in the doorway at the sight of his cousin on the floor, knife in his hand, wrist bared. _

_ “Larry,” he murmured, hands up, non-threatening. _

_ “Go away, Quin,” Larry muttered, knife poised.  _

_ “Not going anywhere, man, come on,” he pleaded with his cousin. _

_ Dinah came up behind him as Quentin stared with horror at the sight in front of him. _

_ “Get on the phone, tell them it’s Officer Lance, and get dispatch to roll a bus,” he told Dinah quietly. _

_ He turned back to his cousin, who refused to look at him. _

_ “I’m sorry.” _

_ Quentin Lance stepped forward, fighting the sick feeling that was clouding his head. Ignoring Dinah’s voice from behind him on the phone. _

_ “Come on, Larry,” he said softly, lowering himself down to the floor beside his cousin and gripping his shoulder.  _

_ The two sat in silence, staring at the knife. The hand that held it was steady. The hand on his shoulder was not. _

_ Larry looked up for the first time, meeting Quentin’s eyes.  _

_ “I’m sorry,” he said again, voice shaking. _

_ Quentin slowly moved his hand over, covering Larry’s with his own.  _

_ “Let me have the knife, man,” he said quietly. _

_ As his grip on the knife wavered, Quentin moved to take it from his hand gently. _

_ Three things happened in that instant that Quentin would never forget. _

_ The first: Larry had jerked the knife, and the blade cut into his wrist as per his plan. _

_ The second: As Quentin reached for the blade to shove it aside, his cousin turned away, and the blade was driven into Quentin’s hand. _

_ The third was what cemented the night’s events in Quentin Lance’s mind forever. _

_ The pain in Larry’s eyes when he realized what had happened and the sudden sob, and he dropped the knife. _

_ Quentin pushed the knife away with a force that sent it sliding across the floor, and he reached out and grabbed his cousin’s shoulders in one desperate motion. _

_ The two men held on to each other tightly, the sound of sirens in the distance. _

_ “Don’t ever do that,” Quentin muttered, not trusting his voice to speak above a whisper. _

_ “I need it to stop.” _

_ Quentin pulled his younger cousin tighter, his hand clamping down on Larry’s arm to stop the bleeding.  _

_ “What do you want to stop?” _

_ “The noise.” _

_ Quentin’s eyes closed as he tried to keep his composure. _

_ “I’ll help you. Let me find you help.” _

_ Larry broke down in his arms, and Quentin choked on the lump in his throat. _

_ “Go back to bed, sweetie,” came Dinah’s quiet voice. _

_ “Daddy?” _

_ Quentin turned, and through the hot tears blurring his eyes he saw Sara, scared, peeking out from under her mother’s arm. _

_ It took two attempts for Quentin to speak, and his voice was cracked and wobbling when he managed it.  _

_ “Go to bed, sweetheart. I’ll come see you in the morning.” _

_ When Sara disappeared, he felt he could breathe again. _

_ Between the pain and regret in Larry’s eyes, and the sheer terror in Sara’s, he wondered if he’d ever forget that night. _

_ - _

“I remember,” he said again, and Sara’s arms tightened around him. 

“Dad, I know the war haunted him.” 

He nodded numbly, wondering what she was getting at.

“Are  _ you _ okay, Dad?” 

He was silent for a moment before he stood up abruptly.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmured before walking back down the hall, leaving Sara in the darkened kitchen.

He tried to push her concern out of his mind, and as he got changed, he felt just a bit like he’d hurt her by shoving her away.

He passed her on his way out of the apartment, and he kept his eyes forward.

He set his watch, planning to start with a run around the block.

If he couldn’t sleep, he’d run. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song title from "Mr. Brightside" by The Killers.


End file.
